


Words to Die By

by justthismorning



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 19:09:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6717739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justthismorning/pseuds/justthismorning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raphael never really liked Simon and he certainly never intended to care about him, but sometimes even the best intentions lead one into unfamiliar territory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words to Die By

**Author's Note:**

> Based solely on the TV show although I did steal a bit from the books' canon and made up my own bits as I went along since there are precious few vampire details in the show. Also, I read that Raphael is supposed to be asexual/aromantic. I'm blatantly ignoring that while at the same time using it as a backdrop. Sorry.
> 
> Translations at the end. I don't speak any Spanish beyond the year I took in university which doesn't really lend itself to colloquialisms. If I got something wrong, feel free to correct me.

_"I may be a vampire but I was raised a good Catholic."_

 

The rosary beads slithered through his fingers, more by muscle memory than by any actual intent. After more than half a century, the habit was hard to break. But there was no prayer, no grace for him, not anymore, and now not for Simon either. Raphael looked at his bed, where Simon lay lifeless and for once, silent. The guilt rose in the back of Raphael's throat like bile, bitter and sour and impossible to force down.

If only he had --. If only he hadn't --. But what happened to Simon, what happened because of him, was just another set in a long line of if-onlys that trailed behind him, a haunting line of regrets like restless ghosts clawing at him for revenge.

The hotel creaked and his eyes instinctively snapped to Simon but he was exactly has Raphael had set him after having carried him in from the sitting room. Of course he was. He was dead.

Raphael balled his hand into a fist, clenching the rosary's crucifix against his palm, relishing the burn and willing the answering sting of unbidded angry tears that would never come. The arms of the cross dug into his skin and a small trickle of blood escaped his fist to drop and shimmer brightly against the black polish of the floor.

"Pinche Camille," he hissed, already knowing he didn't blame her, not entirely. She was just being who she was. The hotel settled again, groaning quietly and Raphael glanced at Simon's slack mouth, daring it to say something, even something annoying. Camille would be back, and she'd want what was hers.

He crossed the floor and gathered up Simon in his arms for the second time that night. He could do one thing for him, even if it would never be enough. "Vamonos, mundane," he said. "Let's take you home"

#

_“Welcome home.”_

 

He’d only done it out of duty. After all, what good was his word if he failed to keep it, even this once, even if it took all his resolve not to kill the one thing he’d promised to look after. Simon simply got into too much trouble when left to his own devices and with this unfathomable reliance on his Clary, he’d never had made the choice on his own. 

But now that Raphael had Simon in the hotel, he didn’t quite know what to do with him. Trying to get him settled had been a nightmare; none of the rooms were up to mundane satisfaction and since that was the standard Simon was holding, none of the rooms were therefore good enough for him. 

“I can’t sleep in a room with red walls.”

“Why does this room have so much gold?”

“Has anyone called an exterminator? Because I think the mold in here has mutated into another lifeform.”

After having looked at every single available room, only to have Simon similarly turn up his nose each time, they found themselves back in the sitting room, Simon fidgeting and shifting his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot and Raphael glaring at him with what felt like a headache trying to take hold. 

“That’s all we have,” Raphael said again.

To his credit, Simon didn’t bring up trying to sleep in the sitting room for a second time, but his eyes darted around the room in an unsettled way that was putting Raphael on edge.

“Could we see the options again?” he asked instead.

Raphael bowed his head and rubbed his brow. “La madre que te parió,” he said into his hand. “Simon, just pick a room.”

Simon shuffled some more, his stupid sneakers squeaking on the floor and Raphael was just about to grab his wrist to make him stop when Simon finally stilled. 

“The one with the purple, uh, thing around the bed,” he suggested timidly.

“The room across from mine?” Raphael said in surprise. Did Simon know that? He couldn’t have known that. 

Simon stared back at him for a moment, then said, “Well, I could pick another -”

“No it’s fine. Whatever. No me importa. If that’s the one you want, that’s the one you get.” Raphael waved a hand in the direction of the door. “Now go. You’re exhausting.” 

He waited until Simon had left before slumping onto the couch, his head tipped back and his forearm thrown over his eyes. What had he gotten himself into?

#

_“You've got to get this under control.”_

 

Simon returned to the hotel full of bullet holes. Of course he did because he’s, well, he’s Simon. 

“Just the shirt, actually,” said Simon thoughtfully, poking his finger through one of the holes and wiggling it absentmindedly. “Look, not a spot on me.”

Simon pulled up his shirt to show Raphael his chest and true, Simon was unhurt but that wasn’t the point.

“That’s not the point,” Raphael said slowly, his voice low and, even to his own ears, dripping with annoyance. “Why are you out there getting shot at anyway?”

Simon turned away to ruffle through the few shirts he’d managed to collect in his wardrobe. He picked a black short-sleeve that proudly proclaimed the floor is lava in bold orange print, and pulled it down over his head muffling his reply.

“What?”

Simon picked a piece of lint from the hem and looked up at Raphael. “I said, Luke needed a favour. I had to help him kill a serial killer.”

“And you were, what, bait?”

Simon laughed. “Hell no. I got to be the serial killer.”

Raphael thought about that for a moment, with each second making him more and more cross.

“The mutt shot you?” he growled at last, and he wasn’t surprised to feel his fangs pressing into his lower lip. “I will kill him, lo destrozaré con mis propias manos, lo -”

He stopped. Simon was staring at him, slowly backing toward the door. “Woah. Dude...” 

No one called him dude. He wasn’t exactly a dude kind of guy, but Simon had his hands up, palms toward Raphael as if in surrender. “If I’d known you’d get so upset, I would have said no.”

Raphael retracted his fangs, and huffed. Trust Simon to agree to being shot, by a werewolf no less. “Stop trying to kill yourself,” he said, trying to keep his voice at a dignified level and failing. As he was walking away, he mumbled under his breath, “Me vuelves loco.”

Which Simon must have heard because he called out after him, “I’m not crazy!”

Raphael rolled his eyes and paused in the doorway. “No, Simon. But I will be if you keep this up,” he said, and when Simon didn’t say anything else, Raphael hastened back across the hall to his own room and closed the door much more gently than he thought was possible in his current mood.

#

_“Stop talking.”_

 

Simon was fidgeting again, touching everything within reach. To the top left of Raphael’s blotter was a black obsidian paperweight that Raphael had bought at a temporary flea market because it was pretty, though he’d never admit that to anyway, and when Simon’s fingers wrapped around it, Raphael snapped his own hand around Simon’s wrist.

“Stop fidgeting,” he said without looking up and held on for only a moment longer than he needed to, just to get his point across, he assured himself, before releasing Simon, who rubbed at his wrist as he flopped into the chair on the opposite side of the desk. 

“What am I supposed to do?” he grumbled, knocking his toes together and picking at the hem of his shirt, which today had an illustration of a pineapple wearing sunglasses. “It’s not like you really need advice from a newbie like me or --”

Raphael pointedly placed his pen on the desk and stared a Simon very hard, who at least had the decency to stop talking. 

“Are you done?” Raphael asked and Simon mumbled something under his breath which Raphael didn’t bother trying to hear. 

“You are extremely tiresome,” he said with a sigh, “but, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, you have value.”

Simon leaned forward, raising his eyebrows and opening his mouth like he was going to speak but Raphael put up a hand to quiet him. Simon slumped back into his chair, his expression wary but also cautiously triumphant.

“Your shadowhunter -”

“Clary,”

“Yes, Clary the shadowhunter, is rather fond of you, for some unknown reason. If Valentine is truly back in New York, it’s only a matter of time before he gets the Cup. I won’t have you involving yourself needlessly and getting yourself killed.”

Simon smirked. “Why Raphael, I didn’t know you cared.”

Raphael rolled his eyes and picked up his pen. “I don’t. Te odio mucho.”

He knew Simon didn’t know what that meant. It didn’t matter; he needed the reminder for himself more than anything.

#

_“I'll look after Simon. You have my word.”_

 

Simon had been out all night, doing God knows what, but when he returned his shirt was torn at the sleeve and there was dirt on his face, smeared from cheek to across his nose, like he’d been dragged through the mud. From his seat on the couch, Raphael watched him cross the sitting room, his glass held loosely between his fingers, he legs crossed casually and his foot resting on his opposite knee.

Simon pulled his shirt up and over his head, ruffling his hair as he went, and exposing the long line of his spine. Raphael blinked but refused to look away. The stirring in his gut was nothing, it meant as little as Simon did, less even when one considered Simon’s connection to the shadowhunters, a connection no other vampire held now and possibly ever.

Simon stopped by bar, his dirty shirt hanging limply in one hand, the other hand tapping on the counter as if undecided about something.

“Buenos dias,”Raphael said and smirked when Simon jumped.

“I didn’t realize you were there,” Simon complained, tugging his shirt back on, albeit backwards and so crooked that a small stripe of skin just above his left hipbone was still exposed. Raphael raised an eyebrow but didn’t linger on the state of Simon’s clothing.

“I’d tell you to work on your enhanced senses, but you and I both know you never will.”

Simon squirmed, adjusted his shirt as much as he could without taking it off completely to start again. He chewed on his lip, looking everywhere but at Raphael who still hadn’t moved. 

“I was just - ah - getting something to -.” He said, but trailed off, twitching and refusing to look at Raphael.

“Drink?” Raphael said. He waved his hand at the table in front of him where a second glass was already waiting. 

Simon, resigned, slouched over and perched cautiously beside Raphael. Neither said anything, both choosing to enjoy - or not enjoy - their bedtime snack in silence. While Raphael continued to lounge, his arm stretched behind Simon on the back of the couch, Simon maintained his air of complete discomfort. Raphael smirked.

“Busy night?” Raphael asked and Simon coughed into his glass. 

“I, um, was just out walking.”

Raphael set his empty glass on the table and leaned forward, uncrossing his legs so that one pressed against Simon’s, and leaning his elbows on his knees. “Since when does walking end in the dirt with yet another ruined shirt?” Raphael fingered the torn edges of Simon’s sleeve.

Simon flinched and Raphael withdrew his hand, though let his leg stay pressed against Simon’s.

“I was practicing,” Simon said into his glass and then took a succession of greedy gulps. Raphael leaned back, smugly. He swatted Simon on the head, far more gently than he intended and his hand dropped to cup the back of Simon’s neck. He ignored the familiar flutter in his stomach and the way his skin felt particularly hot where it touched Simon.

“Take someone with you next time. I’m not having you hurt yourself. I don’t want Clary after me,” Raphael said in what he hoped was a lazy drawl. He gave Simon’s neck one more gentle squeeze before standing and sauntering away. “And wash your face. You look disgusting.”

He left Simon gaping after him, their empty glasses side by side on the table in front of him.

#

 

_“Don't thank me. You mean nothing.”_

 

“What on earth are you doing?”

Simon had about a dozen suits draped over every piece of furniture in the sitting room, and was squirming out of a jacket far too small for him.

“Uh,” Simon said, and Raphael sighed before coming to hold the jacket still so Simon could extract himself.

“Well?” Raphael prompted, and Simon busied himself with straightening a grey suit thrown over the arm of the chair. “Where are you going that requires fancy dress?”

Simon fiddled with a button. It was slightly loose and a stray thread waved out, caught in the breeze from the hallway. “Clary invited me to Alec’s wedding,” he said at last, and accidentally pulled the button right off. “As her date.”

Raphael felt like he’d been punched in the stomach, and if he needed to breathe, he was certain this would be a time he’d feel like he was suffocating. Mercifully, Simon was still avoiding eye contact and missed Raphael’s momentary lapse. By the time he looked back up, Raphael had smoothed out his expression, tipped his head jauntily to the side and quirked his eyebrow with what he hoped looked like indifference.

“So Clary Fairchild needs a lowly downworlder to be her escort,” he said with a huff, which he was pleased to see caused Simon to twitch. “Well, you’re not wearing any of these to a shadowhunter wedding.”

Simon nervously passed the button he’d pulled off from hand to hand. “Uh, well, these are really my only options. I don’t have my suit from home here and it’s not like I can get it, what with the sun up and everything, and I can’t really afford to buy a new one, even if I could make it to a store before -”

Raphael rolled his eyes. “Cállate. Simon. Please, for the love of God, stop talking.”

Simon’s ramble tapered off and Raphael sighed. “You can wear one of mine,” he said at last. “I have a few that will probably look good on you. I’ll have them brought out.”

Simon stared at him. “Really,” he asked breathlessly, and Raphael ignored the answering flutter in his stomach. “Thank you, Raphael, I -.”

Raphael just waved him quiet. “I’m not doing it for you,” he said dryly. “You’re probably the only vampire to be invited to a wedding at the Institute, at least in New York this century, and I’m not having you make a fool of us.”

“Of course,” Simon said, once more fidgeting but still staring like Raphael had just offered something more than just a suit. 

Raphael shook his head. “Just don’t ruin it.”

#

_“Camille, him?”_

 

Some of the vampires had wanted to go after them for their betrayal, or at least hunt them down once the sun had settled safely below the horizon. Their arguments were fairly valid too, at least about Camille. Claiming Simon was a threat, though, was way off the mark. Simon wasn’t coming back. He hadn’t wanted to be part of their world anyway, and now that he was probably safely ensconced at the Institute with his beloved shadowhunter, there was little possibility that he’d be back.

Refusing to let the others go look for Simon was one thing, but no one with better sense was available to stop Raphael, and so he found himself wandering a little Brooklyn neighbourhood that smelled like Simon.

He stared up at a pair of lit windows where the smell was the strongest, watching two figures move around behind pulled curtains. They must be the family Simon had nearly fed on when still a fledgling. Someone moved behind him. He didn’t bother turning to look.

“What do you want, Camille?” he asked.

Camille laughed. “I never could sneak up on you.” After a beat of silence she came and stood beside him. “You can’t really want us dead, can you?” she purred and looked at him from the corner of her eye.

“I mean, me, yes. I can understand that, not that you’ll ever be able to achieve it.”

Raphael huffed. “I will kill you. I just have to bide my time.”

She smirked. “We’ll see, but Simon?”

One of the lit windows suddenly went dark. Raphael turned to level a sneer at Camille. “He’ll get himself killed all on his own. He doesn’t need my help.”

Camille tossed her head to the side and twitched the corner of her mouth thoughtfully. “So you don’t want him anymore? Because if you don’t, I’ll take him.”

“What on earth would you do with him?”

Camille shrugged and stared up at the lone illuminated window. “I don’t know. The little caramel has his use. And now that Valentine has the cup, I’m sure a downworlder with ties to the shadowhunters will be quite handy when it comes to avoiding death.”

Raphael didn’t answer. It wasn’t like she was saying anything he didn’t know, but he’d burned that bridge. He’d labelled Simon a traitor and going back on that would compromise his authority. The last light flickered out and Raphael turned to leave.

“Goodbye Camille,” he said as he walked away. 

“Who knows,” she called after him. “Maybe I’ll grow as fond of him as you have.”

In a flash, Raphael had Camille pressed against the wall, his hand at her throat, his fangs bared in a hiss.

“No sabas nada,” he snarled, but Camille just laughed.

“On the contrary. I know plenty. I know you don’t actually want him dead. And,” she said as Raphael squeezed her throat harder, “I know the only reason I’m still alive is that if you give the order to hunt me down, you have to include Simon. And your little heart can’t bear the thought.”

Raphael hissed once more, shoving her hard into the wall before stepping away, his hand limp at his side though still itching to rip her head off.

“Don’t worry, Camille,” he said backing away. “You’ll get your turn in time. I’m not the only one who wants to see you dead.”

He turned and walked away with her laugh burning in his ears.

#

_“I never meant for this to happen.”_

 

Some of the others wanted to go through Simon’s things to see if he’d left anything of value. Raphael boxed what he could and stuffed it under his own bed before letting them tear into the room. Later, when everyone was out, having momentarily forgotten about the drama of the past few days, Raphael retrieved the box and brought it over to the Institute. 

He didn’t really have a plan for what he was going to say, and three quarters of him hoped it was Clary or even Alec who came out to investigate the proximity alert, but he wasn’t so lucky. Simon must have smelled him and so he found himself staring at Simon’s stupid hair and his stupid face, and the bottom of his stomach felt like it had dropped eighteen floors in a single instant.

“I thought you wanted me dead,” Simon said, crossing his arms.

Raphael cocked his head, hoping his face was blank. “If you’re afraid, why did you come out?”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Simon said.

Raphael looked off to the side, mostly to avoid eye contact. “I brought your stuff back,” he said, and kicked the box at his feet.

Simon raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

Raphael shrugged. “It’s not like anyone would want your junk.”

“Uh huh.”

“Look,” snapped Raphael. “Take your stuff or not. I don’t care.” He turned and made to leave at speed but suddenly Simon was standing in front of him, dipping his head to look him in the eye, his hand on Raphael’s arm making him shiver.

“Why are you really here?” he demanded. His eyes were still hard, but there was something else there. Something open and expectant.

Raphael clenched his jaw. He tried to wrench his arm free, but Simon held on tight. He exhaled angrily and went to hiss at Simon, but suddenly he felt tired, too tired to lie.

“Puta madre, Simon. Me haces falta, okey?” Simon stared at him blankly. Raphael closed his eyes. “I miss you.”

Simon let go and when Raphael reopened his eyes, there was a gap of about three feet between them, with Simon staring at him, his eyes as wide as they’d ever been. 

He was certain an eternity passed, and then two, with only silence stretching between them, until Simon finally spoke. 

“Missed me how?”

Another eternity passed and Raphael looked at his feet, just to avoid seeing Simon’s face. “I guess,” he said. “I don’t know. I guess the way. The way that Magnus would miss his little shadowhunter. I think - I. I think that I miss you like that.”

When Simon didn’t say anything, Raphael peaked up and saw the frown painted all over his face. “Dude, did you just confess your love for me? Because that’s - not what I was expecting. I mean,” Simon paused, his frown turning from confused to more contemplative. “Not that I mind. You’re kind of a jerk at times. Well, most of the time, but I’ve gotten used to that and -.”

Raphael stared. “Simon!” he said and Simon stopped mid-sentence blinking as though brought back from far away. Raphael scowled. “Do you have a point?” 

Simon bit his lip and bowed his head, and then looked at Raphael through his lashes. Two steps later and suddenly Simon had closed the gap between them. He held Raphael's face tenderly between his hands and pressed his mouth cautiously against Raphael’s, his eyes fluttering closed.

Raphael felt like the whole world was about to explode. He reached out to grab a fistful of Simon’s (stupid dinosaur) shirt and hold him close for just a moment longer but Simon was already pulling away, touching his mouth like he couldn't believe he’d just done that. 

“Did you mean it?” Simon asked. 

Raphael licked his bottom lip and was surprised to see Simon hungrily follow the movement with his eyes before he snapped them back up.

“I’m not a liar, but.” Raphael paused. He took a breath hoping it would calm him like it would have had he been alive. “No sé amar.” He said “I don’t know how to love.”

Simon put a hand on Raphael’s shoulder, his other crept down to twine his fingers with Raphael’s. “That’s okay,” he said softly, resting their foreheads together. “I’ll look after you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Pinche: F***ing/freaking  
> Vamanos: Let's go  
> La madre que te parió: Give me a break  
> No me importa: It doesn't matter  
> Lo destrozaré con mis propias manos: I will tear him apart with my bare hands  
> Me vuelves loco: You drive me crazy  
> Te odio mucho: I hate you very much  
> Buenos dias: Good day/morning  
> Cállate: Shut up  
> No sabes nada: You know nothing  
> Puta Madre: Son of a bitch  
> Me haces falta: I miss you  
> No sé amar: I don't know how to love


End file.
